


Tension (a Michael Fassbender fanfic)

by circa1927



Category: Michael Fassbender - Fandom
Genre: Dark, F/M, Fassy - Freeform, Michael Fassbender - Freeform, Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circa1927/pseuds/circa1927
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine is running. From the past, from the future, from living. Michael wants her to stay. And he's willing to fight all her ghosts in order to give her a reason to settle down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cate Shaw (Bluebell84)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebell84/gifts).



> Thanks to Cate Shaw for making me write this fic ;)

**I** **n·som·ni·a:**

**inˈsämnēə**

Insomnia is trouble falling asleep or staying asleep through the night. Episodes may come and go (episodic), last up to 3 weeks (short-term), or be long-lasting (chronic).

 

Christine Hanes slowly chewed on the short nubs of whatever remained of her nails, staring blankly at the computer screen.  Insomnia.  The word rolled around in her fuzzy, tired mind.  She’d been up all night.  She’d fallen asleep around midnight, then had woken up around 2 am, and had stayed up until at least 5.  When the sun had just started lightening the inky black sky, she had been able to fall back asleep.  It seemed like minutes later when her alarm went off at 7:30.  The noise was jarring, almost violent in it’s loudness, stirring her from a deep but disturbed sleep.

Closing the screen to her laptop, she wondered if she should ask her doctor about some sort of sleep aid.  First, she’d need to get a doctor.  Her recent move had removed her from all the things she knew.  Strangely, adjusting hadn’t been all that hard.  The loneliness didn’t really get to her.  She was used to be alone.  She’d always kept to herself, so it was no different being a new person in a new place.  But she’d never had trouble sleeping, and it was making her anxious. This had been going on for quite some time now.  Weeks, if not months.  She had an idea why, but she was still hoping it would go away on it’s own.  She used to pride herself on being able to fall asleep anywhere, and sleep through almost anything. 

But that was before the accident.  That was before she’d lost the one person in the world she had left.  Things were different now. 

She pulled her dark hair over her shoulder, pushing it back into a messy bun and then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk.  Christine pressed her face into her hands, the words from the computer screen burned into her mind.  _Trouble falling asleep or staying asleep._ She took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind. _Episodes may come and go_.  Christine swallowed, feeling the ache between her shoulders start.  She felt wary, bone tired.  She just wanted sleep.  The deep, cleansing, renewing kind. The kind where you woke up a different person, in a different place, with a different life.  She knew now, that sort of thing didn’t exist. _Episodes may last up to 3 weeks or be long-lasting._ Long-lasting.  That sounded familiar.

She had to work the late shift that night at the hospital, but she was looking forward to it.  At the hospital, she knew what she needed to do.  At the hospital, she had a routine, she had an identity.  She had people who needed her.  There was hardly any down time.  It was when she went home that she had the problems.  All the quiet.  The long, empty spans of silence.  That was what drove Christine crazy.  Or whatever this new buzzing, disoriented, slightly panicked feeling was that she got whenever she was alone.  She didn’t mind being alone, but she hated feeling as if someone were always over her shoulder, watching and waiting.

She sat up, scrubbing her hand over her face. A shower was first on her list of things to do.  Shower, then something to eat.  When was the last time she had eaten? Yesterday at lunch? Last night? No, after she’d gotten home from work at around 8, she’d gone for a run, and then she’d met Marla at the pub.  Marla was a sweet friend.  Easy to get along with and she didn’t ask a lot of questions.  They usually went out once or twice a week, depending on how Christine was feeling.  Marla was recently divorced, with no kids, so she had a lot of free time on her hands as well.

When Christine had gotten to the bar, Marla already ordered fish and chips, and for a minute, Christine almost ordered some for herself.  But then, the nausea kicked in, and Christine stuck with her soda water and lime, eschewing food.  As always, Marla fussed over her, but Christine had brushed it off.  Yes, she knew she’d lost a few pounds in the last few weeks.  Yes, she was okay. Yes, she knew she should take care of herself. 

It was just hard to do that sometimes when she felt like she was being constantly followed by a ghost.

Christine sighed, standing up and stretching, raising her arms over her head.  She felt her muscles groan in protest, but it felt good.  It reminded her that she was still alive.  Though she felt as if she were walking through a fog, the physical aches and pains reminded her that she was still there.  They brought her ever so slightly back down to earth.  She turned toward the bathroom when she heard her phone ringing from her bedroom.  It was still pretty early for anyone to call her, so she had an idea of who it had to be.    

Christine hesitated for only a second when she saw that it was her boss, Greg.  She fumbled with the screen of the phone for a second, before swiping it on to answer the call.  It was a new phone and she was still getting used to it.

“I’m not in until tonight, Gregory. Let me have my morning off!” She said with a little smile.  She heard the false cheeriness in her voice, and it worried her that it was almost beginning to sound like her regular voice.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Greg Parker asked.  Christine could tell he was already at the hospital.  She could hear the telltale noises in the background.  She itched to be there, despite what she’d said to George. He was a good boss.  Better than good.  He was the manager of outpatient rehabilitation at Orange Coast Memorial, and he was one of the best in his field.  Although he worked long hours at the hospital, he also had his own sub practice on the side, working with mostly people in the entertainment industry.  Stuntmen and athletes made up the majority of his clients.  He usually only accepted one or two cases every couple of months, as they were often high need, high priority clients.

“No, I’ve been awake.” She walked into the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the tub.

“Still not sleeping?” Greg asked, sounding worried.  Christine hadn’t brought it up, but he’d noticed how run down she’d seemed in the last few weeks.  She’d been at Orange Coast for close to eight months, but she saw her coworkers more than anyone else.

“Nope.” She said quietly.

“I can get you an appointment with my friend, Dr. Phillips.  He’s awesome, and right at OCM.  Just give me the word.” Greg offered. 

“Thanks, Greg.” She did appreciate it.  “So what’s with the early call?” She changed the subject swiftly.

“Well, I need a favor.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Meghan was working with a new client, and it wasn’t a good pairing.  I’ve only had this happen once or twice before.  I was wondering if you’d like to take on one of my Parker clients.” Greg sounded hesitant, a bit worried.  Parker Physical Therapy was his practice.  He’d mentioned contracting Christine for work before, but she’d never taken him up on the offer.  Suddenly, having something to do with all the extra hours seemed like an appealing idea.

“What happened with Meghan?” She asked, curious.  Meghan worked solely for Parker PT, but Christine had met her on a few occasions.  She was a gorgeous girl—thin with blond hair and huge blue eyes.  She was a great physical therapist, and truth be told, a lot of the male athletes liked her best. 

“Well, this client is… he’s not super friendly.  He’s obviously not happy about his injury because it’s keeping him from working.  He complained multiple times that Meghan wasn’t helping him heal fast enough.  I don’t know, but I had to pull her from working with him.  I think I need someone a little tougher and…well, you’re a tough girl, Christine.” Greg says easily.  Christine takes it as a compliment, knowing that Greg means it as one.  Sometimes being quiet and keeping to yourself is construed as being tough.  Christine wasn’t sure if it was an accurate description of her though.

“Who is this guy?” She asked, looking down at her battered hands. 

“He’s an actor. I’ll send you all his information when I get a second.  Will you do it? Please, Christine? I’m in a total bind right now.  I’ve already taken on a full case load, and this guy just popped in last minute.” Greg pleaded, his voice getting slightly higher and panicked.  Christine sighed, and she heard herself agree to help him before she’d even fully thought about it.

“Sure, Greg.  Send me his information.” She said softly.


	2. Doctor Hanes

Michael groaned, clenching his teeth together as he collapsed back onto the couch.  He shifted as the midday sun streamed in from the window, hitting him right in the face. 

“Stop moving.” Came a voice from behind him.  Michael frowned and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the pillows, cursing softly under his breath.

“This is ridiculous.” He mumbled, his eyes still shut.

“Riding your motorcycle is ridiculous.  Crashing on the side of route 1 is ridiculous.  Firing your physical therapist is ridiculous.  You staying completely still and keeping your bloody knee raised is not ridiculous.” Eric Border, Michael’s best friend, who also happened to be his manager, started banging around in Michael’s kitchen.

“If you break anything, I will break you.” Michaelcalled out toward the kitchen.

“I’d like to see you try, peg leg.” Eric shot back.

“And I didn’t fire my PT.  I told her she was too weak to help me.” Michael shifted on the couch, feeling pain bloom around his knee.  Eric guffawed loudly from the other room, and then walked out, carrying a cup of tea and a bottle of beer.  They had been friends long enough that Eric found Michael’s sometimes confrontational nature funny, instead of alarming.  Sure, he did it with charm but he wasn’t afraid to say what he was thinking.

“Beer. Beer. Give me the beer.” Michael raised a long, muscular arm, waving his hand at his friend.  Eric shook his head, holding the bottle out of Michael’s grasp like a small child.

“You’ll die if you drink.  You are on multiple painkillers.”

“I won’t die.  And they’re not working.” Michael sneered and sighed as Eric handed him the mug.

“I even put honey in it for you, darling.” Eric grinned, gesturing to the tea as Michael shot him a wry, wide smirk.

“You’re wonderful, honeybuns.” Michael took a sip of the tea, and then laid back, trying to relax.

“At least it’s only a PCL tear. Once the inflammation goes down, you’ll at least be able to go back to set and get some work done.” Eric settled in across from Michael. 

“A month delay is not making the production team very happy.  And a month is being optimistic.” Michael grumbled, running a hand over his face, the few days worth of beard rough under his palm.  He’d managed to get a shower that morning, and that had been a relief.  He’d been hobbling around on crutches for the last week and a half, and staying upright for too long was hard.  He balanced like a sleeping flamingo that morning in the shower.  He’d leaned against the tile wall, balancing on his good leg.

“It is optimistic.” Eric sighed and looked over at his friend.  Michael opened one eye, his brow creasing.

“I’ll do it.” He said, gritting his teeth together.  Eric grunted in response.  Both men sat in quiet, easy silence for a few minutes.  They had known each other for a long time.  Since before Michael had become a successful actor.  They’d gone to school together as boys, and they’d kept in touch throughout the years.  They were stark opposites of each other.  Eric was tall, and thin with wispy blond hair that he kept ear length, forever tousled around his handsome face. Eric’s looks seemed to belay some of his personality—lighthearted, easy going, kind.  Michael, on the other hand, seemed much heavier.  He was as tall as Michael, passing six foot, but his frame was heavier and more solid looking.  He kept himself lean, but he’d never naturally look as thin as Eric.  Michael kept his dark, auburn hair short, almost utilitarian.  His gray blue eyes were the only thing light about him, but they were kept in check by his heavy brow and masculine features. 

They were an odd pair, but they worked well together. 

“Your new PT will be here any minute.  Want me to stay?” Eric asked, swigging from his nearly empty bottle.  Michael opened his eyes, wincing slightly as he sat up.

“No, mother, you may go.” He said with a short laugh.  Eric sighed and smacked Michael on the shoulder as he got up to leave.

“Let me know how it goes.  I told Dr. Parker that you wanted someone ‘tough’.” Eric walked back to the kitchen, putting his bottle in the sink.  Dr. Parker was well known for being an amazing physical therapist.  He had a small practice that served mostly people in the entertainment business.  His therapists had extremely flexible schedules and were willing to travel as needed.  His was the only name mentioned when Michael was told he’d need intensive therapy for quite a few weeks.

“Thank you.  I’ll let you know.” Michael nodded, just as there was a light tap at the door. 

“I’ll get it.” Eric made his way back through the small apartment toward the front door.  Michael had lived in the same apartment for a few years.  Sure, he could afford more and better, but he didn’t really need much more.  It was a simple two bedroom apartment.  It’s location was great—not far from the California beaches, and with easy access to route 1, which offered awesome, winding roads for riding his motorcycle (something he was going to have to stay away from for some time now).  He hadn’t done much decorating, but Eric had ordered him recently to at least allow a maid to come in every week.  Since Michael couldn’t do much himself, and since a bevy of therapists and people from the production office had been paying him visits on a pretty regular basis, he had allowed a maid to come in to help clean up.  The result was a rather stark, clean, minimalist look.  Big, comfortable leather sofa and a wide, worn armchair.  Flat screen television mounted on the white walls.  A few pieces of art he’d picked up from his travels.  Not much else. 

Michael sat up, as he heard Eric answer the door.

“Hello.”

“Hi, I’m Christine Hanes.  I’m the physical therapist for Michael?” The voice floating in from the person just out of eyesight sounded pleasant, smooth and quiet.  Hmm, not exactly the drill sergeant he’d been hoping for. In his head he had pictured someone with a broad, emotionless face.  Someone who would yell at him and press him to do more.  Someone who would make sure he healed in that miracle month, and not a day longer.

“Hi, Christine. I’m Eric Border. Michael’s manager.  Come on in, he’s in the living room waiting. I’m heading out, actually.” There was an exchange of pleasantries and then Michael watched as a woman rounded the corner into his apartment.  He felt as if he’d been socked in the gut. 

There was no two ways about it.  She was stunning, which made Michael immediately sit up a bit straighter.  She had dark, long hair that was tied up in a messy braid which hung in a thick rope over her shoulder.  Her eyes were light, almost alarmingly so—a gray green that he’d never seen before.  Just making eye contact with her made something deep in the pit of his stomach clench.  Her wide eyes were lined by lashes that looked like black smudges, and framed by dark arched eyebrows.  Her features were surprisingly bold and open, considering how slight she seemed.  She couldn’t have been more than a bit over five feet tall.  She reminded him of a baby fawn, or some sort of skittish, wild animal.

It took him a moment to find words, and remember his own name, but as she approached him, a small smile playing on her full lips, he managed to snap out of it.

“Hi, Michael? I’m Christine.” She walked to where he was sitting on the couch, and held out her hand.  Suddenly remembering his manners, and grateful his mother wasn’t around to chastise him for acting like he was raised by wolves, Michael moved to stand up and greet her, momentarily forgetting about his bum knee.

“No, please, don’t get up.” She held up her hand, as if to push him back to his spot.  He perched on the edge of the sofa, still finding it hard to figure out what to say.  She stood before him, in plain, dark colored scrubs.  He noticed the bottoms of her pants were rolled slightly, indicating they were too long on her. She should have been plain, unremarkable, but something about her stood out.  Her face had just the right amount of asymmetry about it that it all worked perfectly together.  Her eyes just too big, her lips just too wide, her nose a bit too short for her face.  Even the boxy, practical clothes she had on couldn’t hide the curvy dip from her waist to her hips.  He cleared his throat, running a hand over his chin.

“This, uh, isn’t going to work.” He said quickly, looking up at her and meeting her surprisingly expressive, moss green eyes.

 

****

Christine took a step back, away from the man that sat in front of her.  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she’d shown up at the apartment complex, but she hadn’t expected this.  Him.  She knew she would be working with a movie star.  A celebrity. A leading man.

She had expected someone much different—something of a prima-donna type.  Perfectly coifed hair.  Blinding white teeth.  A handsome face so expertly groomed that he looked like he could be made from a plastic mould.  The man in front of her was none of those things.

Oh, to be honest, he was handsome.  He was handsome in the kind of way that made you a bit unsure about yourself.  He was handsome in a base, guttural way.  Short, close cropped dark hair.  A strong, square face darkened by a few days worth of stubble.  An angular jaw, prominent cheekbones.  He had beautiful, crystal blue eyes that were only emphasized by the rather striking, dark look that seemed to linger behind them.  He was handsome but he was in no way perfect.  He was rough around the edges, unpredictable. And he seemed far too normal sitting on the plain leather sofa, in the rather boring, suburban apartment, to be some sort of celebrity.  Christine swallowed hard as he finally spoke, after he’d stared at her for a moment like she was going to be his next meal.

“I’m sorry?” She said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Listen, I’m sorry but, I asked for someone strong—someone tough—“ He began, and she noticed he had a surprising, rather musical voice.  He had an Irish accent, but it wasn’t a clear, pure accent.  It was muddled with other inflections, as if he’d spent a lot of time as an adolescent, traveling and picking up different dialects.

“Mr. Fassbender.” She said suddenly, her voice solid, unwavering.  Michael stopped talking, and looked up at her.  She was glad he was sitting, as she wasn’t sure she’d be able to use her ‘stern teacher’ voice if he’d been standing at full height.

“Yes?” He said softly, with a surprising hint of humor.  Christine blinked, trying hard to read him.  Was he playing with her? She couldn’t be sure.

“I’m an excellent physical therapist.  I wouldn’t be working for Dr. Parker if I wasn’t.  And to assume that I’m not tough or strong simply based on first appearances is…to be honest, appalling and rather short sighted of you.” She squared her shoulders, crossing her arms over her chest, waiting for his response.  Michael opened his mouth, then closed it, a bit stunned.  Well, baby had bite.

“You’re…right.” He shook his head, apologizing.  “You’re right, Ms--?” He looked at her, realizing he didn’t remember her last name.

“Dr. Hanes.” She said quickly, her eyes confrontational.  She never asked people to call her that, but it wasn’t a lie.  She had her doctorate.  Had worked damn hard for it.  He looked to the side, hiding back a grin.  She could see it lurking under the surface.  She felt her annoyance and slight anger start to bubble. 

“Dr. Hanes. I apologize.  I’m sure you’re excellent.  It’s just…the last therapist…” He trailed off, and Christine narrowed her eyes, trying to understand what he was saying. Meghan was a perfectly capable therapist.  She was sweet, and rather southern, having been born and raised in rural Louisiana.  She was appealing in her own, soft, girlish way.  Most of the time, the male clients she worked with absolutely loved her.

“Mr. Fassbender, you’ll heal as fast as your body allows you. We could push you every day until you physically couldn’t do anymore, and it wouldn’t matter.  What happens here depends on you.  Not me.” She lifted her eyes, trying to fight back the urge to just leave.  No wonder Greg charged so much.  Actors were not easy to work with.  She’d take a constipated, half senile grandpa at the hospital any day over this.

Michael shifted and then he pushed up, using his good leg and the back of the wide sofa to help him stand.  She opened her mouth to tell him not to, but she was silenced when he came to his full height.  He was bigger than he looked sitting down.  Much bigger.  Taller, leaner, fitter.  He was wearing a thin, worn gray tshirt that hung off his broad shoulders and just barely grazed the top of a pair of loose fitting sweatpants that sat low on his narrow hips.  She unconsciously took a step back, needing more space between them.

“Michael, please.  Call me Michael.  And I’m sorry.  I was unforgivably rude.  Can we start over? Please, Dr. Hanes?” He pushed his hands together in a pleading motion, and then gave her a slow, wide smile that she was sure worked for him quite often while on dates.  Christine took a deep breath and then released her arms from her chest, pushing her hand out toward him again.  He looked relieved, and he took her hand in his big, warm one.

“Yes, please, let’s start over.  And it’s Christine.” She said, looking up at him and catching a warm, heady rush of warmth and humor coming from his stormy blue eyes.


	3. Therapist

Christine stared in the mirror, noting the dark circles under her eyes.  She was barely 30, but her worn out eyes relayed a soul much older.  Her sleep pattern hadn’t improved much.  She usually woke up at least once a night.  If she was lucky, she could get back to sleep within a half hour.  Most nights she stayed awake for an hour or more, her mind on hyper speed.  When she did fall back asleep, her dreams were riddled with familiar faces, and places, which she knew she would never see again.

It had been a week since she’d met her rather fascinating new client.  She was meeting with him every other day, and the last two sessions had gone much smoother than the first. He was determined to heal and go back to set within a month.  After she’d gone over his charts, x-rays, and done some preliminary exercises with him, she knew he most likely would need more time.  He was strong and very fit, but he was also 37. Of course he wasn’t old, but he wasn’t a teenager.  The torn ligaments were pretty severe—not quite bad enough to require surgery, but rehab was going to be thorough and intense.

Christine was thankful for the job though.  Things had been slow around the hospital, and she was happy to have something else to occupy her time.  More time working meant less time to think.  Less time to worry.

She pulled her dark hair back into a serviceable knot at the base of her neck, and then tugged her scrub shirt over her head.  She knew they weren’t the most flattering clothes, but it really was the last thing she wanted to be worried about.  It had been so long since she had thought about anything like that—dating, romance…sex.  She hadn’t thought about those things in months.  It wasn’t as if she was going to start worrying about it now.  Michael was handsome, but she had no intention of getting involved with a client, let alone a famous one.  She glanced at her phone as she grabbed her things, getting ready to leave. 

The text message icon blinked slowly on her screen.  She licked her lips, her heart quickening in her chest.  She rarely got messages.  When Marla wanted to hang out, she simply called.  Christine checked the message, feeling her stomach get rock heavy.

_Can I see you? Please? I beg you._

Eight words and she felt dizzy for a moment.  The number came up, but it wasn’t programmed into her phone.  She knew who it was.  Christine shook her head, her fingers shaking slightly as she texted.

_Please, don’t contact me again._

She turned off her phone, slipped it into her bag and then headed out the door.  It was easier to forget the text.  Easier to block it far, far back in her mind.  Perhaps the texts were one of the reasons why she didn’t sleep.  In the eight months since she’d lived in Orange County, she’d gotten at least a dozen of them. 

Michael didn’t live far from her apartment.  Only a few minutes drive when traffic wasn’t a problem. The drive today was easy.  The traffic on a Friday morning was light, and with the windows down, Christine felt her head clear a bit.   She had expected him to live in one of the gated communities, but he lived in a complex that was only slightly nicer than her own.  She’d been surprised when she arrived at the apartment a week ago.  It was plain, unassuming. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, she made her way to the top floor of the building.  There was an elevator, but she liked to take the stairs whenever possible.  It was the physical therapist in her.

She knocked swiftly on the door and then waited.  Michael could get around with crutches, but it took him a bit longer to do things.  He had been told to keep his leg elevated and iced periodically during the day and she hoped he was listening.  She got the feeling that he often did whatever he wanted, no matter what people told him.  Christine waited, and then knocked again after a few minutes.

The door opened a second later, and Christine was surprised when it wasn’t Michael that opened the door.  It was a woman.  A barely clothed woman.  She had a big, white towel wrapped around her, her tanned skin looking slightly damp, her long dark hair wet.  Her rather impressive cleavage was pressed against the terry cloth, and Christine found it miraculous that the towel managed to stay up.

“Hi.” The woman said, smiling and looking rather demure.  Christine stumbled over her words a second, surprised by the person in front of her.

“Hi…um, I’m here for Michael?” She said once she finally found her voice.  The woman grinned wide, showing off small, perfectly white teeth.  She looked young, and was flawlessly gorgeous.

“Are you the masseuse? He’s in the shower.  I’m Carley.” She opened the door wide, and then turned and sauntered back into the apartment, her curvaceous hips swaying as she did.  Christine sighed and followed her inside, closing the door behind her.

“I’m his physical therapist.” She corrected the girl, watching as Carley opened the fridge and pulled out a jug of orange juice.  She opened the bottle, then drank daintily straight from it.  It didn’t seem to faze her that she was only wearing a towel in front of a complete stranger.  In fact, it almost seemed like she enjoyed it.  Christine looked around for Michael, and then heard the water shut off in the bathroom.

“Oh, physical therapist.  That’s right.  But you give massages, right?” Carley asked, tilting her head. 

“Not…exactly.” Christine paused, and crossed her arms over her chest.  Carley frowned and then let out a high, girlish giggle.

“Well, let me go get Mikey.  I warmed him up for you.” Carley laughed and then winked at Christine before disappearing into a rather steamy looking bathroom.  There was a murmur of voices, and some muddled laughter before silence. 

Christine groaned as she sat down on the edge of one of the arm chairs.  They had moved some furniture around so that there was enough room for them to do the stretches and exercises in the living room.  There wasn’t a lot of furniture to begin with, so they had a decent amount of space to work in.  Michael had been pretty relaxed about changing things around to make it the best therapy space.  He knew the alternative would be to commute to the Parker office every other day, but it was a lot of hassle for someone who had trouble getting around.  He couldn’t drive at the moment, so he’d also have to hire a car.  It wasn’t quite his style, so he was happy to have Christine come to him.

She waited a few more minutes, setting up her equipment and then waited again, before the bathroom door opened and Michael stepped out. He had a crutch under one arm, and Carley hoisting him up under the other.  Carley had dressed in a simple, skin tight cotton tank dress.  Michael was shirtless, wearing loose fitting gym shorts.  Christine stood up, not sure if she should be looking at the pair of them.  She caught a glimpse of a long, lean, muscled torso, and strong arms. Michael hobbled slowly over to the couch, and then sat down, groaning softly as he did.

“Thanks, baby.” He grumbled, as Carley kissed him and then patted him on one of his broad shoulders.  Christine glanced at her watch, noticing they were already fifteen minutes late to start their session.

“I’m going to head out.  I’m getting brunch with the girls.  I’ll see you tonight?” Carley asked, grabbing a leather jacket and an expensive looking bag from the back of a kitchen chair.  Michael nodded, waving goodbye as he reached onto the back of the couch, pulling on a white tshirt.  Carley stepped out, leaving the apartment nearly completely silent.  Christine stayed still, watching this whole exchange take place and waiting for Michael to acknowledge her. He sat on the couch, his bad knee bent and not raised, his stare blank.  

“Our session started 20 minutes ago.” She said finally, breaking the silence.  Michael turned his head and looked at her, finally.

“Good afternoon to you.” He said, his voice hard around the edges.

“Right.  Are you ready? Also, you should have your leg elevated right now.  And you should probably not be doing whatever you were doing in the bathroom with your lady friend.  If you were to slip and fall—“ Christine sighed as Michael raised an eyebrow at her.

“What do you think we were doing in the bathroom?” He asked, a wry smile on his face.  Christine narrowed her eyes and stood up.

“You were the one who said you wanted to heal quickly.  My time is valuable, Michael.  You need to be ready when I get here, and then you need to take what I say seriously.” She crossed her arms and took a step toward where he sat on the couch.  Michael sat still for a moment before rubbing a hand over his jaw. 

“I’m sorry.  It’s just that I just got news that the project I’ve been working on—the one I should be shooting now….if I can’t shoot within four weeks, then they are going to recast.” He said this without looking at Christine.  She felt her heart sink a little for him, as she could tell, even from the short amount of time they’d spent together, that he took his work very seriously.

“I’m sorry to hear that.  So your solution to that is to what? Waste your physical therapist’s time, and sit on the couch?” She pressed her lips together.  Her voice was soft, quiet, but stern.  Michael let out a low, rumbling chuckle that came from deep in his chest.

“This is really frustrating for me, Christine.  Really frustrating.”

“Well, don’t take it out on me.  I’m just the messenger.  The messenger who can help you make sure you don’t lose your project.” She walked over to him. 

“I’m sorry. I was being an ass.  I know you’re here to help me.”

“Yes, and I thought we established that a week ago.  Listen, Michael, I know things are tough for you right now.  But you need to trust me.  And you need to listen to what I say.  I promise you I will do everything I can to help you get back on your feet.” She took a deep breath, and felt the fatigue from the last few days settling over her.  Motivational speeches weren’t really her thing.  She had enough problem dealing with her own issues, let alone someone else’s.  But there was something about Michael. He was stubborn, tough, and he needed a push in the right direction.

“Alright.  I’m listening.  Let’s do this, Chris.” He said, looking up at her with his clear, ice blue eyes.  Christine frowned and shook her head.

“First rule, don’t call me Chris, okay Mikey?” She gave him a half smile, and he laughed. 

“Right. Noted.”

 

**** 

Michael felt the pain spread and bloom through his knee, shooting up and down his calf and into his quads.  He gritted his teeth, feeling his hands bunch into fists as Christine leaned into his leg.

“Breathe, Michael.  Breathe.” She said softly.  Her voice was unemotional, but it was what he needed to hear.  He took a breath, feeling the oxygen fill his lungs quickly. 

“Fuck, it hurts.”  He groaned, looking to the side.  They were doing simple range of motion exercises, and then moving into hip stretches.  Christine guided him through each movement.  They should have been simple, basic movements, but they felt like fire through Michael’s leg and knee.

“I know.  But you’ve got to work through it.  Breathe.” She said again.  He nodded, shutting his eyes for a moment.  Her hands rested on his thigh and braced against his shoulder.  He felt the pressure of her small, warm hands against his skin, and the weight she was using of her body to steady herself. 

“Talk me through this, doc.” He grunted, and bit back a curse word.  Christine relented slightly, but then began moving him into another stretch.  She ran her hands over his muscles, massaging as she did.  It was the kind of pain that was tinged with pleasure.  Perhaps a bit more pain than pleasure.

“Tell me about the job you’re working on.” She said, trying to distract him.  Michael groaned and shook his head.

“Not work.” He hissed softly through his teeth as they both moved.  Christine was leaning over him, the side of her hip pressed into his.  Michael took another deep breath and couldn’t help but notice how good she smelled.  It wasn’t floral, or overly feminine.  Just clean, maybe a bit of vanilla.  He opened his eyes, which he’d been shutting ever so often to help with the pain, and looked up at her.

He wasn’t totally sure of her age.  Maybe late twenties, but there was something different about her.  She was tough.  He knew that.  Now he did.  And she had a sense of humor, though she wasn’t the kind of person to openly crack jokes.  He could see it in her eyes though.  The way she took things in—how observant she was.  She didn’t miss anything. 

This was their fourth session, and he couldn’t honestly say he knew anything more about her than he did from the first time they met.  She was closed off.  She wasn’t unfriendly.  She smiled, and occasionally laughed, and even when she didn’t laugh out loud, he could see in her eyes when she thought something was funny.  But she didn’t reveal much about herself.  When they talked during the session is was always about him.  It was always about the exercises or his work.  When he asked her about herself, he usually got back stoic, amused looks or one word answers.

“Tell me about Carley.” She said, raising a dark, arched eyebrow at him.  Michael laughed then, surprised. 

“What would you like to know?” He set his head back, taking a deep breath as Christine moved.

“Honestly, nothing, but you said you needed me to talk you through this.” She breathed out, a small laugh escaping her lips as she tilted her head down.  Michael laughed, moving his head to see her face.

“I like your honesty.” He grinned wide.  Christine smiled but then shrugged.

“How long have you been together?” She asked.  She kept rubbing his muscles as she stretched him to the side. 

“Not long.”

“Is she the one?” Christine asked, and Michael looked at her just in time to see the little smile at the corner of her mouth.  She was teasing him.  He held in a laugh and shook his head.

“She’s a sweet girl.”

“She is legal, right?” Christine pressed her lips together and this time laughed out loud.  Michael rolled his eyes, and leaned up on his elbows.

“She is. She’s actually 23 if you would believe it.” He winked at Christine and then sat up completely as they finished the stretches.  Christine sat back on her heels, watching Michael as he breathed heavily and took a drink from a water bottle sitting nearby.

“I was serious about before.  You need to be careful with your, ah…private activities.  You could injure your knee further.” She felt her cheeks flush, but then she pushed away the embarrassment.  He needed to know.  This was just part of the job.  It’s not like she cared what he did in his spare time with his gorgeous, young, model-esque girlfriend.

“She was just helping me in the shower.  Believe me, doc, I am not trying to do any heavy lifting right now.” He chuckled, and then sat back, leaning against the back of couch.  Christine rolled her eyes and got to her feet, going to get some equipment from her bag.

“You’re not a good liar.”

“This is true. I’m not.  Which is why I don’t lie.  And probably why I don’t stay in relationships long.” Michael watched Christine as she moved around the room.

“Well, I’m your PT, not your therapist, so save all that for them.” Christine grinned and then walked over, placing a set of weights next to him.  Michael smiled, shaking his head.

“Yes, ma’m.”


	4. Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Truth...
> 
> I almost ditched this story. Like all the stories I start and actually post, I have it all worked out, but writing it was a struggle. And I had started my new Tom fic, Hello Again, and so this story got put on the way, way, back burner. Then @bluebell84 got on my case, and inspired me with her awesome Fassy fic, Cherry Bomb, and here I am. So here's some new stuff. I hope you enjoy, and leave a comment about what you think.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.

Christine rolled over, waking from a deep sleep. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she had somehow managed to get a few uninterrupted hours. That rarely happened, but when it did it was like finally drinking after being without water for days. Her phone was buzzing loudly on her nightstand, and she managed to answer it despite her sleep blurred mind.

“Hello?” She answered, her voice low and scratchy with sleep.

“Miss Hanes? Jared Fore. Did I wake you?” The voice on the other end of the line set Christine almost immediately on edge. She sat up quickly in bed, brushing her hair from her face.

“Mr. Fore. Hello. No, I was just…resting.” She said softly, her heart beat picking up.

“I called to follow up on a few things. I wanted to see how you were doing.” Jared’s voice was calm, in control. He was completely professional. They hadn’t spoken in a few weeks, though they usually talked at least a few times a month. Christine nodded her head, then remembered he couldn’t see her.

“I’m fine. I’m doing well. I’ve been busy with work.” She answered. Jared hummed softly in agreement.

“That’s good to hear. Any issues? Anything you’ve been worried about? Have you spoken with Patrick Moore recently?” Jared asked, his voice terse and to the point. Patrick Moore. His name used to be Patrick Nuestro. It was still strange to hear him referred to as Patrick Moore. She had felt that way about the name Christine Hanes. It had felt strange, foreign to her for quite sometimes. Now, it hardly fazed her. She was Christine. It was worrisome how easy it was to leave behind someone you’d been for twenty some years. Christine licked her lips, feeling her stomach squeeze.

“He’s contacted me via text message. He wants to see me. But I’ve barely responded so we haven’t really spoken. I just feel it’s for the best. I know we are sort of…in this together, but I need some space. I need some time.” She wrenched her hands in front of her, Patrick’s face filling her mind.

“I understand, Ms. Hanes, but you should consider letting him be a confidant to you. I know how challenging the last year has been. He’s contacted me saying he’s worried about you. I just wanted to check in. You have some things coming up concerning your sister’s case, yes?” Jared said gently. Christine pressed her lips together, feeling her heart thud in her chest. He always acted as if he didn’t know everything that was going on. As if he didn’t know nearly her every move. As if he didn’t know every aspect of her sister’s case. And how it was inevitably going to affect Christine.

“I do. Yes.”

“Well, if you need anything, please let us know. Things have been rather quiet lately, but that’s not necessarily good or bad.” Jared sighed.

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” She said softly. They said their ‘goodbyes’ and then Christine quickly hung up. She flopped down against her bed, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Jared Fore was there to help her. He’d been a lifesaver, literally. But when she talked to him, he made her nervous. He made her uneasy and anxious. He was a nice man. He was always calm, collected and in charge. He’d probably helped save her life on multiple occasions. But he reminded her of her sister. He reminded her of her old life. Of all the tragedy and regret. He was there to help, her contact with the California Witness Relocation program, but just the sound of his voice tossed her back to a year ago, when her sister was still in her life but spiraling madly out of control.

****

“You’re quiet today.” Michael said through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw as Christine pushed methodically into his thigh and hamstring. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow as a response, which made him laugh. His laugh was low, almost like a rough cough coming from the back of his mouth. Just a bit softer, and easier.

“Right. You’re always quiet.” He grinned and then set his head back against the mat, breathing through the exercise.

“How do you feel today?” She asked, running her hand up his calf. Her motions and touches were strictly professional. She needed to touch him, to feel the movement and range of his muscles and joints so she could assess the exercise and how it was helping him. Still, there were moments sometimes where she’d find herself holding her breath when she touched him. Sure, she was a quiet person, but around him, she sometimes couldn’t dare herself to speak.

It was totally ridiculous and unprofessional, but then again, she didn’t often work with handsome, fit, rather challenging men. Perhaps she liked a challenge. Or maybe she just liked how Michael didn’t treat her like she was going to break, like everyone else seemed to do. He treated her the same way he treated everyone else, it seemed. He was made of something tougher, and he assumed everyone else was.

“I feel okay. I slept well last night, which is the first time in awhile.” Michael nodded and then grunted softly as she switched into more range of motion exercises. Christine had gotten about three and a half hours last night. Which wasn’t terrible for her. Sleep was like a delicacy. Something she somehow couldn’t afford right now.

“I’m glad. The pain is getting better?” She asked, looking down at him. Michael shrugged, shaking his head back and forth. He looked at her then, a smile frozen on his face, his ice blue eyes catching hers. She smiled at him, not able to help herself.

They’d been working together for almost three weeks now. They’d built a rather easy, comfortable rapport, despite their rocky start. She could tell he trusted her as his therapist. She always pushed him hard, working through the pain. She knew he understood that she knew what she was doing. It was a good feeling, and one of the reasons why she did this job. She loved helping people. Maybe it was some sort of complex. She was sure an undergrad psychology major could have a field day with her psyche.

“The studio is asking for updates. They’re giving me some extra time. I think it’s because they realized recasting would cost more than it’s worth.” He sighed and grimaced slightly as they moved. Christine nodded and pushed her hands into his side, and his outer thigh. He was solid, lean muscle. She felt the strength in his legs, felt the shake of his muscles as he fought through the discomfort and pain.

“Good, that’s really great, Michael.” Christine gave him a small smile, feeling relieved some of the pressure was off of him. She barely knew him, but she knew his work was the most important thing to him.

“How much longer do you think? Until I can walk without the crutch?” He asked, as she let up on the exercise. Christine sat back on her heels, knowing she shouldn’t sugarcoat it for him. Michael was laid out in front of her, on a mat she brought with her. It wasn’t a traditional therapy set up, but it worked for him and what they needed to do.

“Four of five more weeks. If we are lucky.” She said after a beat, watching his reaction as she spoke. He groaned, setting his head back against the mat, his arms raised and behind his head. He closed his eyes, then ran a big hand over his face. Christine watched his chest rise and fall for a moment, the hem of his tshirt had ridden up his lean stomach, revealing a few inches of bare skin. She swallowed hard, then got up quickly and started putting away some of her supplies she used.

They were quiet for a few minutes as she cleaned up and Michael laid still on the mat, staring blankly up at his ceiling.

“You really don’t sugar coat it, do you?” Michael said finally, hoisting himself up to a sitting position. Christine looked at him over her shoulder.

“No. Do you want me to lie to you?”

“Are you flirting with me, doc?” Michael said, a sly smile spreading across his face. Christine rolled her eyes, turning away from him as she filled out some paperwork for the day.

“You’re progressing really well, Michael,” she adeptly changed the subject. “But your injury was serious. You need to come to terms with the fact that you’re not Superman.” She’d said this to him multiple times, but it never seemed to really soak into his workaholic brain. Michael grunted somewhere behind her in response.

“Christine, do you talk to all your clients like this? Or am I special? Such sweet pillow talk.” He murmured, though she heard humor in his voice. Christine turned around abruptly, shooting him a look.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Fassbender, would you like me to pat your head? Hold your hand when you cross the street?” She said, her eyes glittering with laughter. Michael laughed loudly, abruptly. She smiled, then let out a small, measured laugh. It was nice to smile, to joke around.

“You must get hit on a lot while you’re at work.” Michael said suddenly, leaning back on his hands as he sat on the ground. Christine froze, staring at him for a moment before looking away. She felt her face warm, and then she shook her head.

“I’m professional, Michael.” She said quickly, zipping up her bag. Michael sat up quickly.

“Shit, I didn’t mean you weren’t. I’m sorry, Christine. That came out all wrong.” He laughed, almost nervously before running a hand over his jaw. She turned toward him, crossing her arms over her chest as she did.

“You just say whatever you want, don’t you?” She shifted her weight, watching him. He looked up at her, his eyes clear and steady.

“I’ve been told that I do.” He nodded, unapologetically. “Does that bother you?” He asked then, leaning forward onto his knees. Christine thought for a moment before nodding slowly.

“No, it’s refreshing actually. I’ve known a lot of people who weren’t honest.” She shrugged, and then felt heat rising to her face, realizing she was divulging more than necessary to him. Talk about being professional. Michael nodded though, not looking offended or put off, just thoughtful.

“So do you have a boyfriend then?” He asked, his face serious. Christine blinked, surprised at his question, but not entirely shocked. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel the spark between them. It wasn’t anything to worry about. Or to even really give a second thought to. But it was something unspoken. She couldn’t really put her finger on it.

“Would me having or not having a boyfriend help your knee heal faster?” She asked softly. Michael’s eyes widened, and he blinked a few times at her, trying to understand.

“No…I suppose not.” He said finally.

“Well then, I guess that’s not something you need to know then.” She quipped, then walked over to him, holding her hand out to help him up. Michael chuckled softly, and then narrowed his eyes at her. He looked at her outstretched hand, then reached up, wrapping his much larger one around hers.

Without warning, he gave her a gentle tug, and caught off guard, she jerked forward, almost falling toward him.

“Michael!” She laughed, pulling back on him as he chuckled.

Christine begrudgingly helped him up, both of them still smiling as she did. As he got to his feet, putting his weight on his good knee, they both heard his front door open. Michael groaned as he stretched out his leg in front of him, putting his hands on his narrow hips and then taking a hobbled limp forward.

“Careful.” Christine said softly, her hands coming up to his lower back and side to make sure he didn’t tumble forward. She guided him toward his couch, just as Carley came sweeping into the room.

Michael’s girlfriend had on huge sunglasses, her hair swept up into a big, rounded knot at the top of her head. She had multiple shopping bags on her arms and Christine recognized some of the high end stores. Stores she occasionally went to, but had never, ever bought anything from.

“Baby!” Carley set her bags down, then pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head. Michael looked up at her, flashing her a quick smile that was replaced with a grimace as Christine got him situated on the couch.

“Hi, love.” Michael replied absentmindedly.

“I’m going to get you the ice pack.” Christine said softly, then turned and quickly left for his small kitchen. As she walked away, Carley brushed by her, not even acknowledging her presence. It had become quite clear over the last few weeks that Carley wasn’t a huge fan of her. Christine wasn’t sure why. Carley wasn’t ever overly rude. She just sort of…pretended Christine didn’t exist.

Christine walked into the kitchen, readying the ice pack and towels for Michael.

“I went shopping, baby.” Carley’s voice filtered in from the other room.

“I see.” Michael replied. Christine paused at the counter, as she stuck a heating pad in the microwave to warm it up.

“I got a lot of great things. I used your black card. I hope that’s okay, daddy.” Carley cooed.

Christine grimaced, “Gross.” She said under her breath, glad she couldn’t see whatever they were doing in the other room. She didn’t hear Michael’s response but she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

“Do you want to go to dinner tonight?” Carley asked, her voice high and girlish. Christine rolled her eyes, without even meaning to. Michael wasn’t like many other men she’d met. He was funny and unassuming. But his taste in women he dated… left a lot to be desired. Looks over substance.

“I can’t,” Michael replied quickly, his voice clipped and rather cool. “My knee is killing me. Christine wants it elevated for as long as possible.” Michael said obediently, which made Christine smile.

“Oh god, are you serious? I could get us the Chef’s Table at Auteur.” Carley whined. Christine sighed, shaking her head as she pulled the heating pad from the microwave. She grabbed the ice pack from the freezer, and then went back out into the living room. Michael had his leg up on a big, padded ottoman stacked with pillows. Carley was perched on the edge of the couch, her slim legs crossed and turned toward Michael.

Michael looked up as Christine walked over, handing him the packs.

“Heat first, just for a bit. Then do the ice.” She said sternly as she put a towel down over his knee, tucking the edges around his leg.

“Thank you.” Michael nodded.

“I need to finish some paperwork. It’ll take me just a few minutes.” Christine said simply, then turned to go back to the kitchen. She had to write down her notes for the day, and always did it in his kitchen at his small table. Sometimes he’d join her, but the majority of the time he would stay on the couch.

“Thanks, Christine.” Michael said quickly. She walked back into the kitchen, sitting down at the table and pulling out her forms.

Christine could hear Michael and Carley talking in the other room, but she couldn’t make out everything they were saying. Carley’s voice started to rise after a few minutes, and Christine paused as she wrote, listening in. She couldn’t help herself.

“She’s always here, Michael. Jesus.” Carley groaned. The first few words of Michael’s reply were muffled, and Christine couldn’t hear them, but she heard the last part of his reply.

“…my PT, Carley. She has to be here. For fucks sake, she’s helping me.”

“I could help you.” Carley cooed, then there was a long pause of silence. Christine rolled her eyes, then went back to finishing her review.

“Why is she still here?” Carley said after some time. Christine took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over her forehead.

“She’s filling out paperwork for the session. Carley, come on.” Michael said, his voice much softer than Carley’s. She was barely trying to be quiet as she was being openly rude about Christine.

“Why don’t you just fucking offer her a room here? She can pay rent.” Carley replied, clearly agitated.

“Well, then at least someone besides just me would be paying rent, eh?” Michael retorted, and Carley let out a huffy little groan. Christine chewed her lower lip for a moment, feeling agitated.

“I told you I’d help once my modeling career gets into gear.” Carley sighed. Michael grunted in reply. Christine knew he didn’t need the money. To be honest, she did a google search on him after one of their first sessions together. She’d been shocked to see how many successful movies he’d been it, despite the fact that she wasn’t all that familiar with his career. He definitely didn’t need any money.

“Mikey, I’m just worried about how it looks. This girl coming and going out of our home so much. I can’t have people thinking that I’m competing with someone like _her_. You know how the media talks.” Carley sighed. Christine clenched her jaw, quickly gathering up her paperwork and shoving it into her big work bag. She could finish this in the car.

“Are you really worried about that? Is that what you’re worried about right now, Carley? Christine is helping me. She’s _helping_ me. That’s a lot more than I can say for you.” His voice was rough, low and angry. Christine took a deep breath, a mixture of emotions washing over her. She needed to leave. She threw her bag over her arm as she walked out of the kitchen, quickly. Carley met her eyes, practically challenging her to say something as she made her way through the living room. Carley knew that Christine could hear them. That much was obvious.

Michael sat up, accidentally knocking the heating pad off his knee.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael.” Christine could barely look him in the eye.

Carley was right. She wasn’t any kind of competition. She hadn’t known there was a competition, but Christine knew that scrubs and a messy pony tail were no match for Chanel and Louis Vuitton.

“Christine.” Michael said, his eyes pleading with her. He knew she’d heard as well.

“Bye.” She nodded and then quickly moved to leave the apartment.

Christine was out the door, and walking down the hall toward the staircase when she heard her name being called. She didn’t want to turn around, but worried he’d try to run after her. Damn the therapist inside of her, she didn’t want him to injure himself.

She turned around, finding Michael standing at the doorway to his apartment, his eyes on her. She stopped, putting her hands on her hips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Fassbender.” She said stiffly. Michael didn’t move, didn’t react. He just stared at her with those icy blue eyes, his expression unwavering and unamused.

“You should go inside. Before people start talking.” She raised her hands up slightly, gesturing to the empty hallway. Michael shook his head slowly, then looked down for a second.

“Can you come here, please?” He asked. Christine frowned, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No.” She quipped.

“If you don’t, then I will come after you, and you don’t want that.” He said steadily. Christine swallowed, feeling a strange, involuntary clench in her stomach. She knew he didn’t mean it in the way that it sounded, but her body reacted almost instantly.

“Only because I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.” She mumbled, walking over to him, stopping a few feet away. Michael held out his hand, one arm still holding onto the doorframe for balance. Christine stared at his hand, not sure what he wanted her to do.

“Can you take my hand?” He asked, sounding slightly annoyed. Christine chewed briefly on her lip, then slapped her hand into his. He smiled, and wrapped his warm, big hand around hers. Christine felt her breath get shallow, and she waited, watching the way his fingers wrapped around her palm and then touched her slender wrist.

“Thank you.” Michael said softly, then held onto her hand firmly. He tugged her forward, and Christine was forced to take a hurried step forward. His knee may be damaged, but there was nothing wrong with the rest of him.

Christine looked away, avoiding his eyes. She could feel him staring at her, trying to get her to look at him. Michael stooped down, coming down to her height. He tilted his head, moving so she was forced to look at him.

“Ignore her. I’m sorry. I fucking mortified she was so rude.” He apologized, sincerity washing over his face. Christine met his eyes, and she nodded quickly.

“It’s fine. I’m not some delicate little flower, Michael. You didn’t need to apologize.” She squared her shoulders, and pulled her hand from his grip. He let her hand slide through his as he watched her.

“No, but I did. I really did.” He said gently. Christine pressed her lips together, and she could swear that his eyes went to her mouth. She needed to go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael. Go put some ice on your knee.” She said softly, turning and making her way down the hall. She didn’t look back, but she could feel his eyes on her as she moved away.

She needed to be careful. She needed to be really careful with Michael. She had to admit she found him intriguing. She found him funny and interesting, and though he was a bit rough around the edges at times, and seemed to positively ooze testosterone at others, she felt strangely at ease with him. He seemed the sort of person to always be in control. No matter the situation. He was smart, and stayed one step ahead. She liked that. She liked how honest he was, and completely unapologetic for it. And she liked that even though she’d just met him, she felt like he was an open book.

Which was funny considering that fact that she was the exact opposite of an open book. Her pages had been glued shut a long time ago. And she didn’t have the time or the luxury of entertaining silly crushes on her clients. Especially not famous actors.

Christine made her way back to her car, quickly putting her things in the back seat. When she climbed in, she saw she had a message waiting for her on her phone, which she had left in the center console. She quickly checked it, and immediately felt her breath catch in her throat. A message like so many others she’d received lately.

_Please, Sara. I need to see you. Just meet with me once._

Christine stared at the words until they blurred together. Sara. Sara. Sara. Someone she’d left behind in the dirt over eight months ago.

 _Patrick, please stop._ Her hands shook as she replied.

 _One meeting. I am lost without you. Without Jessie._ He replied. Christine felt the familiar kick in her stomach whenever her sister’s name was mentioned. Nowadays, no one ever talked about Jessica. Because no one in her current life even knew she existed. So to see her name now, written so plainly in a message, made Christine feel ill. She felt her resistance falter. At one point, Patrick had been the only person she could depend on. He’d been the one last thing in her life that was steady, and they’d gotten through Jessie’s death together. But that was when Christine was someone else. She was Sara Jensen. That name was gone now. Just a ripple in dark, murky waters.

 _If we meet once, will you leave me alone then? I can’t do this anymore, Patrick._ She texted back, feeling her throat start to constrict. She set her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes until she felt her phone buzz with a new message.

_Yes. Thank you. Just one meeting. This weekend? Saturday? I can meet you wherever you want._

Christine closed her eyes again, breathing slowly. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night.

 


	5. Jump Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have some serious writer's block, people. Worse than ever before. So I apologize that literally nothing happens in this chapter, but I felt the need to put something out there to push this forward. I still want to finish this fic, and know where it's going, but it's been tough. Thanks for sticking with me.

Christine stared up at the dark ceiling. She’d gotten about two hours of sleep total, all of it disjointed and muddled. She had no idea what time it was, but she knew it was almost time to get up. She had a long day ahead. A short shift at the hospital, and then she would head over to Michael’s for his therapy. She couldn’t lie to herself. She was also desperately trying to forget the fact that it was her birthday. She wasn’t the sort that liked making a big deal out of birthdays, but this year…thinking about turning another year older, and the state of her life…it just made her sad.

She’d get through it though. She always did. She didn’t need cake, or a party. Sure, it would be nice to see friends, or spend it with someone special. But, she didn’t really have either of those things. She couldn’t afford those things in her life. It seemed lately, all she had was endless, wide awake nights to keep her company. Today would definitely be a struggle. She’d just have to depend on lots of caffeine, and the familiarity of almost always being sleep deprived.

Her thoughts were just too loud. She was nervous about seeing Patrick. It was something more than nerves though. It was…anxiety? Fear? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t have anything to be afraid of, but she was scared of how seeing him, in the flesh, would make her feel.

Patrick was from her old life. Even with a different last name, he was the same person. And seeing him would remind her that she wasn’t really Christine Hanes. She was Sara Jansen. It had never been easy to be Sara. Her life had been full of baggage. Her parents had died young, both involved with drugs and an excessive lifestyle. They’d spent the night out one summer evening, and hadn’t made it home. A car crash had effectively kept them from ever seeing their two daughters again. Christine had been ten at the time, and her sister, Jessie, had been 12.

After that, their lives immediately turned into a long line of foster homes. They had been relatively lucky. Sure, there were the horror stories about those sorts of places, but Christine and Jessie had been able to stay together, and hadn’t faced anything more harrowing then just a general sense of not belonging, and not truly being wanted. They could have had it worse. Much worse. Still, it was far from ideal.

Things had gotten much, much more interesting when they hit their teens. Once Jessie turned 18, she was on her own. And not only that, but Christine had immediately seen that her older sister carried a lot of the same characteristics that their mother had. She liked to live fast, party hard, and worry about the consequences later. Although Jessie was two years older, Christine often felt like the older sibling. It had been fun at first. When they were in their late teens and very early twenties, they would party together. Christine would go with Jessie to college parties, though at the time neither of them were in college. Christine was still in high school, somehow managing to get good grades, and Jessie had dropped out when she’d had the first chance.

Things had stopped being fun for Christine when she’d had to bail her sister out of some ridiculous situations time after time. After high school, Christine had managed to get a scholarship to a local college. It was hard to focus on exams and studying and classes when she was constantly being woken up at all hours of the night. Jessie needed to be picked up from a party. Jessie was passed out on someone’s front lawn. Jessie had overdosed and was on the way to the hospital in an ambulance.

It hadn’t been easy.

Christine rolled over in bed, pulling her covers high up, covering half her face. Thinking about Jessie made her feel sick. It made her ache—the sadness, the frustration of seeing the person closest to her spiral out of control. It still haunted her that she hadn’t been able to help her. She had a feeling it would always haunt her.

Groaning softly, Christine sat up, rolling her stiff shoulders as she did. Her back was in knots, and her neck cramped. She walked around in a constant state of tension, feeling the weight of the past on her shoulders. Things had felt almost a little different lately. There had been moments when she’d felt normal, as if she would get through this and be able to be a normal, functioning adult.

She had a good job. She enjoyed working with Michael, and hoped that Greg would allow her to see more of his clients. She liked California. But it seemed as soon as she let her guard down, even for a second, a memory would come rushing back, nearly giving her whiplash with the force.

She didn’t have a normal life. She would never have a normal life. Her sister, her only family in the world, was dead. She had been brutally murdered right in front of Christine, and her murderer was still out there. It didn’t matter if she changed her name, her hair, the way she looked… Jessie was still dead. And Christine was still the only one who knew who did it.

 

****

 

“Thank you for coming later. I had a last minute meeting that I had to attend.” Michael opened the door wide, letting Christine in. She gave him a quick smile and slipped by, walking into his family room. He had the television and two lamps on, illuminating the otherwise dark apartment.

It was past eight, much later than Christine usually came, but Michael had called her earlier that morning asking if she could come later. It wasn’t that uncommon. It was why she worked for Greg and his company. They took clients who had challenging schedules. People who couldn’t always follow a schedule like everyone else—people that needed flexibility. She’d hoped she’d have been finished with work by now. She’d been looking forward to a long, hot bath and some take out, but her plans had quickly changed after Michael had called to reschedule.

“It’s no problem. I hope you didn’t actually go to a meeting somewhere.” She said over her shoulder, stifling a yawn. She’d managed to get a quick nap after her shift at the hospital, but she had a feeling that it had done more harm than good. She set down her travel mug of coffee on Michael’s table, and then turned to face him.

Michael stood, leaning one hip against the back of the sofa. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and he was just watching her.

“Michael.” Christine repeated his name, impatiently. He blinked, as if moved from a trance.

“Ah, sorry. No, it was a video call.” He sighed, moving slowly over to where she was so they could begin their routine. “No need to worry, doctor.” He smiled. Christine gave him a quick smile and then got back down to business.

They were quiet for some time as they worked through their exercises. By now, it was something they both knew well. Christine would sometimes make a suggestion, or move him differently. Michael was still in pain, but things were getting easier for him.

Christine let her mind wander as she pushed into Michael’s thigh, her hand running over his calf and testing his muscle. Michael was lying back, his focus on the movement as he grimaced slightly.

“Does that still hurt?” She asked, looking down at him. She used her hip to push, and then watched his face. Michael gritted his teeth, and shook his head, his eyes focused up at the ceiling.

“Yeah. Just a wee bit.” He said with a humorless laugh. Christine sat back, nodding as she made a mental note. He was healing, but some things were taking longer. She didn’t think anything was wrong, but she knew he wanted to be better by now.

“Keep doing that rep.” She said softly, getting up so she could grab her notes. Michael nodded, and kept moving his leg. He was able to get around better, especially if he used a cane or crutch, but there was still some pain there that she was concerned about.

“Carley and I are through.” His voice caught her off guard as she walked over to her bag, grabbing her folder with her notes on Michael. She hesitated for a second, before looking up from her things. Michael stilled, his face turned toward her. His clear blue eyes were intense, focused on her and only her.

“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that.” She said stiffly, walking back over and perching on the edge of his couch. She flipped through her notes, then wrote down a few things, trying to keep herself busy though her mind was flashing a mile a minute. Christine could see him out of the corner of her eye. Feel him looking at her. She took a deep breath and looked up from her paperwork.

“Are you alright, Christine? You seem tired.” Michael sat up slowly, then leaned back onto his hands. His voice was steady, and tinged with worry. She glanced at him, noticing that he was the one that looked tired. His eyes were darker than usual, his face lined.

“I’m fine.” She nodded and closed her binder. “I’m going to come over tomorrow with some new equipment. You’re going to hate me, but it will be good. We need to work more of the muscles.” She gave him a quick smile and sat up straight, catching Michael’s eye. He nodded and then shrugged.

“Whatever you say, doc.” Michael’s voice was subdued, and Christine couldn’t help but wonder if he was okay.

She groaned softly and then shook her head.

“Are you alright? With the break up?” She asked, despite the voice in her head telling her it was a personal conversation she didn’t need to get involved in. She glanced at Michael and he turned his head, resting his hands on his knees.

“I am.”

“I hope it didn’t have anything to do with yesterday.” Christine said softly, then immediately regretted it. Michael smiled at her, the grin slow and steady.

“It did, actually.”

“Oh.” She clenched her hands around her binder, and swallowed hard.

“Yeah, Carley was fun but that’s about it. Too much work.” Michael sighed heavily.

“Yes. Bummer. Relationships that take work. Totally sucks.” Christine said drily, standing up. Michael laughed softly, then moved so he could get up.

“Touche. What I mean is…she’s the wrong kind of work.” Michael stood then, coming to his full height. Christine watched him from the corner of her eye, for some reason she needed to keep some distance between them. The apartment seemed smaller than normal. And warmer.

“I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, Christine. But only for the right reasons.” Michael sat back against the arm of the sofa, his gaze steady on Christine. She nodded quickly and then slung her bag over her arm.

“Right. Well.” She slipped by him, trying to ignore the fact that she felt the need to hold her breath as she did. As if she took too deep a breath, then she’d expand too far and need to touch him. Christine cleared her throat, annoyed with the fact that she was so unnerved by him. She couldn’t deny it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael.” She made her way quickly toward the door, Michael following closely behind her. Christine opened his door, and immediately cringed as she saw the deluge outside. The unexpected thunderstorm was like a wave of water outside, the rain coming down in sheets. She’d heard about it on her way over, but had hoped that it would have passed over them. Apparently not.

“Careful, it’s really pouring.” Michael said, peering around her toward the parking lot. Christine sighed as thunder rolled above them.

“I see. Just my luck. Have a good night, Michael.” She pulled her light sweat shirt around her tightly, and stepped out into the hallway. There was an overhang, but the rain seemed to by flying sideways, hitting her angrily in the face as it pelted down.

Christine ran through the rain, rushing to her car, her keys ready in her hand. She sighed softly as she slipped inside, pulling her soaking wet hoodie off and tossing it into the back of the car. Smoothing her hair from her face, she went to start her car and…nothing.

Christine swore softly as she realized her car wouldn’t start.  She tried it twice before groaning, and slumping back against the seat.  The culprit—her headlights were on.  She’d left them on.  She felt exhaustion sweep over her as she grabbed her bag, looking for her phone.  Her battery was most likely dead, and she’d need a jump start.  All she really wanted to be doing was getting that hot bath, and then tucking herself into bed. What a terrific birthday.  Working all day while numb with exhaustion, and then most likely having to wait in the pouring rain for a jump start.

Fumbling around in her bag, she groaned loudly and pushed back against the seat when she realized she didn’t have her phone with her.  She’d left it charging in her apartment after her quick nap that afternoon.  Christine fumbled quickly with her keys, pushing them into her bag, and then took a deep breath.  She only had one option really.  Dashing from the car, and out into the pouring rain, she ran quickly back toward Michael’s apartment. She immediately felt the rain drench her, as if she’d stepped under a waterfall and not just a rain storm.

Christine made it quickly back to the corridor, shaking off as she walked toward Michael’s apartment. She hesitated for a second before knocking rapidly on his door, the hollow noise echoing down the hall.

He answered the door rather quickly, considering how much slower he moved than normal.  Christine stood dripping from head to toe at the threshold, her hands bunched at her sides.

“Back so soon?” Michael looked surprised, and he swung the door open wide, holding it with one hand. Christine didn’t move, but straightened up a bit, trying to seem taller than her just over five foot height.

“Hi. I’m sorry. I need to borrow your phone. Please. My car’s dead or something, and I left my phone at home.” She shivered then, unexpectedly, and tried to hold back the fact that her teeth were chattering.  The wind from the storm was surprisingly chilly, and making her already wet skin prickle. She could feel the air conditioning from Michael’s apartment, wafting out toward her. It was making it nearly unbearably cold.  Michael frowned, looking her over.

“Sure.” He stepped back, gesturing for her come in.

“I…don’t want to get your apartment all wet.” She said, waiting at the door.  She could feel the water dripping from her shirt, down her arms and onto the concrete floor. He cocked an eyebrow at her and then narrowed his eyes.

“Come in, Christine.” He said rather sternly, then waited patiently for her to move.  She hesitated, but then brushed by him.  His apartment wasn’t any warmer than the hallway, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped inside.  Her soaking wet scrubs weren’t making it any more comfortable for her. She could feel the rough, wet cotton against her skin.

“I’m sorry. I guess I need to call roadside assistance.” Christine felt overwhelmed, and a bit flustered, which wasn’t like her.  She knew it was the combination of being tired, a bit overworked, and now the stress of having to deal with the car.

“Is it your battery? I’m sorry I don’t have a car or I’d give you a jump.” Michael said, his back to her.  Christine froze, pressed her lips together and was eternally grateful he couldn’t see the blush that had rushed to her face at his words.  She knew he didn’t mean it that way.

“I think it is the battery. I left my headlights on. I don’t know where my h-head is.” She said, her voice faltering slightly.  Michael turned then, holding out his cell phone to her, his brow creased.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly.  She nodded quickly, reaching out for his phone.  He held it tight, and didn’t let go when she went to take it.

“Christine.” He said her name as a statement, demanding her to really answer his questions.

“I’m fine, Michael. I’m just tired and frustrated and…to be honest, freezing.” She said with a quick laugh.  Michael nodded.

“Why don’t you call a service truck, and then you can change into something dry.” He placed his phone in her hand, then turned and started toward one of his bedrooms.  Christine watched him for a few seconds, but then blinked rapidly and turned to his phone.  She didn’t know what he expected her to change into.  It wasn’t as if she carried spare clothes with her.

After doing a few quick searches online, and calling around, she found a company nearby who had service vehicles available.  She sighed as she hung up after hearing that they were going to be at least two hours before they’d be able to come to her.  Apparently it was a big night for car troubles.  The unexpected rain had caused quite a few accidents, even some minor mudslides and issues on the roads. Her dead battery was the least of their problems.

Christine set Michael’s phone down, realizing she was alone in his living room.  She stood awkwardly, crossing her arms over her chest.  Her scrubs were now cold, wet and clingy, and she truly did feel uncomfortable.  She didn’t want to sit down, and get his couch wet so she stayed standing.

“Did you get ahold of someone?” Michael’s voice floated from another room. 

“Yes, I did. Thanks for letting me borrow your phone.”

“What? I can’t hear you.” Michael said with a laugh, his voice muffled.  Christine sighed and then walked through the living room, making her way toward the sound of his voice.  She passed through a short hallway, walking by a small bathroom, and then came to a quick stop at an open door at the end of the hallway.  Michael’s bedroom.

He had his back turned to her, as he stood in front of a small dresser.  He was wearing jeans and a plain tshirt, both of which hung loosely on his trim, lean figure.  He’d changed out of the basketball shorts he’d been wearing for their sessions. 

“Christine!” He yelled, not realizing she was standing a mere few feet from him.

“Yes?” She said softly, and Michael turned quickly, surprised to see her standing at the door.

“Sorry.” He laughed.  She smiled.  “Here, why don’t you change? You’re going to get sick.” He held out a tshirt and a pair of drawstring pajama pants.  She stared at the clothes for a moment, longing to change out of her wet ones, but not entirely comfortable with changing into his clothes.

“Thanks but—“

“I swear, they’re clean.  And I won’t tell a soul. No one will know you’ve been ‘unprofessional’.” He walked over then, using a crutch to lean on, and pushed them toward her. He slid a finger over his lips, as if zipping them up.

“I shouldn’t.  Thank you though.” She shook her head.  Michael rolled his eyes and gave her a cajoling grin.

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m just going to go wait in my car.  The tow said they’d be here in a few hours.” She felt her stomach bunch into knots.  The thought of spending a few hours, cold and wet, in her car, sounded like an utter nightmare.  Without her phone, she couldn’t call Marla to help her out, and she didn’t really know anyone else that she could call.

Michael frowned, and then took a step back, sitting down on the edge of his bed.  Christine noticed it was neatly made, and looked entirely too inviting.  She fought back a yawn, remembering how tired she was. She rocked back on her heels, locking her knees and fighting the urge to slump down next to Michael.

“You’re going to wait…sopping wet…in your car? For a few hours?” He looked up at her from where he sat, speaking slowly, humor and disbelief tingeing his words.  When he said it like that, it sounded absolutely ridiculous.  Christine took a deep breath, forced a smile and then nodded.

“Yes, thanks for the phone call.” She turned then, moving to leave.  She only got half a step, when she was halted in her place. Michael’s hand shot out, grabbing gently onto his forearm.  He stood, rising up to his full 6’ height.  Christine swallowed, feeling her stomach clench.

“Doc.” Michael said softly, his words gentle and surprisingly amused.  Christine took a deep breath and then turned slightly to face him, looking up at him.  She felt like a drowned rat.  Her dark hair plastered around her face, her clothes cold and clinging to her.  She was on the brink of tears—not the weepy kind—the angry, frustrated kind.

“I know you don’t particularly like me, but please…stay.  You can wait here for your tow. I promise I won’t bother you. Hell, I won’t even talk if that’s what you’d like. But I can’t let you go out and sit in your bloody car.” Michael’s voice was gentle, low and calm.  Christine knew she was being stubborn, and not quite logical.  There really was no reason why she shouldn’t wait in his apartment.

“That’s not true.” She said softly, feeling Michael drop his hand from her arm.  It took her a few seconds, but a sad feeling washed over her when she realized it had been quite a long time since she’d been touched like that.  Not her touching a patient. Not her shaking someone’s hand.  A real touch.

“What’s not true?” He asked.  From this distance, she could make out the dark blue around the edge of his irises.  The lighter, icier blue in the middle.  He had subtle lines around his eyes, laugh lines and signs of age and experience.  There was something about his face.  It wasn’t like anyone else’s.  He was intelligent, smart and a bit on the dangerous side. Unpredictable.  Christine knew it wasn’t a good mix. Not for her.  Not with her life.

“That…that I don’t like you.” She said, despite herself.  “I do like you. I’m sorry if I’ve convinced you otherwise.” Michael blinked, and then tilted his head down just a bit. 

“That’s good to know then.  Stay here while you wait. Please.” His voice was so surprisingly gentle, and understanding, that Christine felt a rush of emotion again.  This time, it wasn’t anger or frustration, but gratitude.  She shoved the feelings down, nodding dumbly.

“ Have you eaten? I’ll make us dinner.” He spoke quickly, and then pushed the soft, dry clothes toward her again.  Christine took them, despite herself. 

“No…I haven’t eaten.” She felt her stomach rumble as she thought of food.  Another day, another multiple skipped meals.

“Alright, good. Get changed. I’ll show you my skills in the kitchen.  You’re going to be really, really impressed.” Michael said with a laugh, his eyes joking.  Christine smiled and then nodded.  Michael turned, and then left the room, softly closing the bedroom door closed as he did to give her some privacy to change.


End file.
